


What Is Rightfully Mine

by Ionah



Series: Insignificant Things [2]
Category: Grimm
Genre: Dark, Drugged Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ionah/pseuds/Ionah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick no longer accepted the unexplained as insignificant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Rightfully Mine

Something wasn't right.

Two missing quilts seemed like such unimportant events; baffling, odd, but insignificant in the wake of his life as a Grimm. But that was the thing. Nick was a Grimm, and two missing quilts signified the unexplained, and Nick no longer accepted the unexplained as insignificant.

He set up a camera in their bedroom, and he checked it daily for a week. He found nothing, and life went on around him, while he spent an inordinate amount of time mulling over the answer to the puzzle of missing bedding.

It occurred to him, when he thought about it in the middle of the night, Juliette curled warmly into his side, his eyes staring up at the shadow-laden ceiling, dark but for a streak of light that slipped through the curtains, that Juliette had been traveling when the quilts had gone missing, a visit to an old friend the first time, a convention for veterinarians the second. She would leave again in about a month and a half for a two day seminar, something to do with new methods of something or other and horses.

The Thursday she left, Nick set his camera up to run continuously and record to the hard drive of his computer, because things had been busy at the station, and his Grimm work took more hours of life than ever these days, and he didn't want to miss his opportunity to find out if someone was sneaking into his home and stealing from him. He almost smiled, because it made him think of the story of Goldilocks, but he didn't, because it wasn't quite funny. If it turned out to be the Eisbibers, then he might find the humor in it, but otherwise, it was someone sneaking into his home, where he and Juliette slept and loved, touching their things and taking what was his.

He woke up Saturday morning with a slight headache. At some point last night, he'd showered. He remembered the hot water stinging his sweaty skin, the warm mist feeling good after the cold of a day spent in and out of Hank's car as they chased down leads in a purely human crime of murder. It had been a long evening at work, and when he'd come in at around seven o'clock, the captain had called about something to do with their main suspect.

It wasn't until he had pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, when he remembered that Juliette wouldn't return on her flight until early that evening and he needed to make the bed up himself today, that he noticed the newest quilt still spread across the bed, skewed though it was after a fitful night of sleep. He frowned, a little disappointed that he hadn't yet solved the case of the missing quilts.

He decided to reset the camera and delete the footage he'd already captured so he didn't fill up his hard-drive with a lot of useless video. His finger slid over the touch pad, seeking the buttons that would pull up the feed. It was almost an afterthought to take a quick look at the video, probably nothing more than the same attention to detail and inability to ignore the little things that made him a good detective.

He skipped through the first few hours, and then a few more, because there was nothing on Thursday but him wandering in and going to bed to sleep. He skipped more time, and more, and almost decided to forget the rest when he reached eight fifty-six pm Friday evening. Last night. Then he stopped skipping anything.

Only his heartbeat skipped.

He watched, teeth clenched, a marked tremble in his hands and heat in his face.

He watched everything.

The crisp flat blanket going on the bed over the quilt. The gentle push that sends Nick forward onto his knees on the mattress, the hands that spread him out on his stomach, the nimble fingers that tug off his pants and remove his shirt. The voice that tells him what's happening, what he's been given, how it will affect him.

His hands curl around Nick's hips, pulling his pliant body up and even with his own. His cock fits right into the crease of Nick's ass, oil glistening in the lamp light.

“You don't remember the last time I fucked you, do you, Nick? My compliments or my regard for your tight, tight little hole?” His mouth is on Nick's ear and its surprising the camera picked up the words. “There's no need to hold back. You've begged every time. This time will be no different.”

“I'll kill you for this.”

“No, you won't, but if it makes you feel better, imagine you will.” He leans forward, curling his back, one hand glides over the cheek of Nick's ass, getting ready to open him up. Fingers slide inside him, fucking him slowly. His eyes squeeze shut and a whimper chokes out of him.

“Ask for it” he says.

“No,” he says, but he sounds weak, tentative, shaky with his resistance, as if he's going to break at any moment.

“You will,” he says. “It's your place to ask, mine to give.”

He doesn't ease his cock inside Nick; he doesn't shove. He pushes in steady and sure, one smooth controlled movement that buries his cock to the root, while Nick utters a drawn out groan from low in his throat and seems unable to decide if he wants to pull away or push back against the invasion.

Nick, in the here and now, could only watch the scene play out, remembering none of the desperation, pain, or pleasure he can see on his own face.

He begs. For a very long time. _“Fuck me harder, harder, please... I need more, please, please. No, no, yes. Tell me what you want me to say... Please don't stop...”_ a sob of relief as a hand reaches for his cock and curls around aching flesh and hips grind against his ass, while that thick cock slides out and then in again, sharp, fast, hard, hard, harder.

So hard, Nick doesn't understand why he couldn’t feel it now. But he didn't. His body felt... unused, unfucked, but not normal, because seeing this, nothing could be normal now. He had never been fucked up the ass before, at least he had not known, but he expected to feel _something_ , and it didn't feel right that he didn't.

Maybe this was what regular people felt like when they saw Wesen in their morphed state, unable to process, unbelieving, and all he could think was that there's no way. No way this was real. The captain isn't like this, wouldn't do this, that can't be him, them, Nick crushed into the bed under Captain Renard's weight... but then everything changed in a moment with a few short words, and Nick used his shaking fingers to run back the video and jab at the keys that would turn the volume all the way up.

“The day will come, Grimm,” a pause for a kiss along the back of Nick's neck, his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, a deep breath and a low groan, a sharp thrust of hips and closed eyes, “when this will no longer be necessary, and I will have what is rightfully mine.”

Nick knew then that this was real, that the captain was here, and that no matter how he would like to, how his skin crawled to know that the captain had seen him like this, done this to him, watched him afterward knowing Nick remembered nothing, he could not kill Renard until he learned the truth about this man he had once thought he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Should have left it alone, I know, but I couldn't stop myself when I quite literally woke up with the opening sentences in my head. If I've ruined it for you, I apologize. Forgive any errors. I have no beta. I love Grimm, and I adore Captain Renard, Nick, Monroe, Hank, Wu, Adalind, and even Juliette, but I have no friends in the fandom to squee over them with.


End file.
